


Over Easy

by WilliamRaineyHarlaw



Category: RWBY
Genre: Backstory, Cooking Lessons, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Hangover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6724348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilliamRaineyHarlaw/pseuds/WilliamRaineyHarlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qrow and Yang make breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Easy

“Uncle Qrow?”

“Mrrgh… Yeah, kiddo?”

“Are you hungry?” _Translation: I’m hungry._ I blinked a few times until my eyes were pointed in the same direction, then rolled over to assess the situation.

It took me a moment to remember that I was on Tai’s couch. The gray light before dawn was coming in weakly through the blinds, and if it had been any brighter my eyes would have tried to flee from it into the back of my skull.

Yang was standing next to the couch with a blanket around her shoulders. She…damn, it seemed like she’d grown another few centimeters in the night. Still, I didn’t have to look up very far to meet her eyes, and when I sat up—bracing myself against the twinges in my head—I was back at her level again.

“I don’t know… Do _you_ think it’s time for breakfast?”

“Maybe?” Her stomach growled. I would have laughed, but my own chose that same moment to send me a message: _Watch your step, boy. I haven’t decided yet if I want to ruin your day._

“Well, I think it’s time.” I tried to face over to one side of her when I talked, and breathe through my nose. There wasn’t really any point to that—no matter what I did, I knew I must reek of whatever I’d been drinking after she went to bed—but now that we were both up and about, I could at least try to keep the worst of it from her. Didn’t want her to lose her appetite, after all.

I pulled on a sweater, nabbed an empty glass that smelled of brandy off the table, and followed her into the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of water? I think I need one.” Yang folded her arms impatiently, but after a moment she nodded. I poured one for each of us—although mine had to be rinsed a couple of times first, and came with pain pills.

They didn’t have any effect at first, of course, but it helped knowing they would soon. Next, to compare whatever Yang had in mind with the actual contents of the kitchen. I opened the fridge, and very slowly leaned down to look inside. “What should we make?”

“Mistral toast!”

“…I’m sorry, A’Yang. I really like that too, but I have no idea how to make it. We can make regular toast and some eggs, though…?”

“Okay!” Gods, she really must be hungry—the last time I’d had to admit ignorance about a particular dish and suggest an alternative, she’d pouted until dinner was almost ready. The smell of ginger and garlic had won her over, but it had been a close thing.

“Let’s build up our strength just a little. Do you remember where the cheese slicer is?”

As it turned out, it was in the sink. Rather than wash it, I found a knife, took a slice off of the wedge of…well, something pale yellow, whatever it was, and passed it to Yang. “Open up.” I took one for myself, and once we’d both gotten them down I asked, “Better?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” I don’t know what it is about cheese, but I’ve never had a hangover that it didn’t help. I set the knife farther back on the counter, where I hoped it would be out of reach, and brought a chair over to the stove for her.

While she found the bread and eggs, I tried to get a pan and a spatula out of the cabinets without making too much noise. Then I retrieved the knife, cut a half-inch piece of butter into the pan, and started one of the burners.

Yang clambered onto the chair and watched me tilt the pan from side to side until the butter had all melted. When I guessed it was about hot enough, I motioned to her to pass me an egg. “Have you done this before?”

“Nope!”

“Okay, I’ll go first.” I cracked it against the stove top and opened it into the pan with a hiss…then stood there holding the halves of the shell, probably with a stupid look on my face. After a moment, I decided to just throw it into the sink. “Now you try.”

She held up a second egg…and smacked it a little too enthusiastically against the stove. “Whoops.”

I fought down another laugh. “All right…try tapping the next one reeeally gently a few times, just to get a feel for it.”

That went better—all of the contents made it into the pan, along with a couple pieces of shell that I fished out with a fork. We added one more each, and I wiped away most of the “learner” egg.

Yang watched as they sizzled and turned opaque. “Dad says eggs are bad for him.”

_Perfect timing._ I considered this for a moment. “Did he say why?”

Yang put her elbow on the back of the chair, rested her chin in her hand and thought. “Well…he said he can only eat them once in a while…because they’re…collector something.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Ahh. Well, he’s right—eating too many is bad. Eating a few is okay, though. You just have to pay attention, and make sure you don’t have them every day.” Well, that and treat the hens decently, but I knew the people Tai bought his eggs from, and I wasn’t too worried about that. Besides, there was no point in complicating the issue further. At Yang’s age, most kids barely needed any excuse at all to develop neuroses about what they ate. “Let’s make another batch after this—that way, everyone’ll get two. If _someone_ is extra hungry, we can make a couple more.”

I loosened the eggs with the spatula, then tilted the pan towards her so that the still-uncooked whites started to run together. “See how the bottom part is cooked, but the top isn’t?”

“Yep.”

I scooted her chair away from the stove, back to the counter. “That means they’re almost ready. Now…you turn the toaster on, and then watch me flip them.” She threw in the bread, slammed the lever down and whirled around to watch me, barely avoiding falling off the chair. “Easy, Firecracker—I was going to wait for you.” I cut the eggs apart again with the edge of the spatula, then turned each one—carefully, so as not to spatter myself. “Do you want some OJ?”

“Yes, please.” I held her up to get the carton out of the fridge, and watched _very_ carefully as she poured us each a glass. Mine had to wait, though, while I got out two plates and some tin foil.

“What am I forgetting?”

“Jam,” she said immediately.

“See if you can reach it,” I said, easing the first batch of eggs onto a plate and covering them with a sheet of foil.

Against my expectations, she got two jars—strawberry and apricot—out of the fridge and onto the counter without dropping them (or anything else). The toast popped up, and while she put in a few more slices, I started the second set of eggs.

“Thanks for helping,” I said, patting her on the back. “You go wake your dad up, I’ll take care of your sister.”

“Can you teach me to cook other stuff later?”

“Of course—as long as it’s okay with him. He knows a lot more than I do, but I can show you how to make a da—uh, a darn good salmon fillet.”

“Can it be soon, or do you have to leave again?”

I gave her most of a smile. “No, kiddo. I’ll be around for a little while this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> KIDS! Before taking painkillers to treat a hangover, read the label carefully. Gastric bleeding is nobody’s friend.
> 
> Also there was no writer's block behind the writing of this at all. None.


End file.
